QL Submissions
by sketchyclaw
Summary: QLFC submissions from Beater 1 of Falmouth Falcons.
1. Chapter 1

**The Expectations of an Insufferable Know-it-all**

Her hands shook as she broke the seal. Her quickness in opening the letter belied her hesitation in finding her results — she had been petrified for a good few weeks, and she had lost oh so much study time. She was sure she was going to fail!

Despite that belief, Hermione was barely surprised as she stared at the row of perfect O's, some marked with asterisks to show how she had scored more than a hundred percent because of extra credit. She could feel a happy bubble growing inside of her, though, until her eyes zoomed in on something she had not noticed in the first glance. As she stared at the tiny letter, Hermione felt her legs give out, and she found herself falling, falling.

The stone was cold, and so grew her heart at she looked at the unacceptable 'A' printed against 'Potions' that now stood out like a sore thumb. How had this happened? Where had she failed?

She scrambled through the thick wad of answer-sheets attached, and another 'A' was marked on top. Hermione let out a loud sob. The grade had shattered her heart — even an Exceeds Expectations would have been nicer than this… this very _unacceptable_ grade. That one sob was followed by another, then another, until the teenager was a crying mess, her answer sheets crumpled between her hands. She would be horrified at her treatment of all the beautiful outstandings later.

Finally done crying two hours later, the girl stood up, and a resolute expression formed on her face. She was _Hermione Granger_, and she would show Snape how high her expectations were for herself. She would not fail herself again, and she was going to get all O's, even if it killed her. She would show him how insufferable she could really be, when challenged like this.

She had already signed up for all the electives, and if she was being honest with herself, Hermione regretted it a little bit just then, because perhaps she would be spread too thin to achieve the sky-high expectations she had already set for herself?

It was then that her salvation flew off the table and landed on the floor, right next to where she was sitting — a note she had previously ignored.

_Dear Miss Granger,_

_Upon inspection of your chosen electives, I've realised that due to the way the time-table is arranged, it's impossible for you to attend every class. _

_That said, after giving it due thought, I wrote to the Ministry on your behalf to allow you to proceed with the classes you have specified. _

_While I'm not entirely convinced this is the best idea, you are a diligent and quite remarkable student. The Ministry of Magic have issued you a Time Turner, which will permit you to 'do over' hours so that you can attend double classes when it's a necessity. _

_This is a privilege given to a select few students, Miss Granger, and not something to be taken lightly. I believe I know you well enough that you will not abuse the trust awarded to you. _

_Please see me at the beginning of the term, where we will go over the rules and the uses of the time turner. _

_Minerva McGonagall_

_Deputy Headmistress_

Hermione couldn't stop the '_Whoop!'_ that escaped her, feeling ecstatic. Now she could do what she wanted, without having to ever worry about not having enough time!

When Hermione got onto the Express that year, she had a slightly maniacal grin on her face. She mellowed somewhat as Harry told them about the Sirius Black situation, and the dementors were terrifying, but if she could have, Hermione was sure she still would have skipped all the way from Hogwarts Express to the Great Hall.

Professor McGonagall pulled her and Harry aside, though, and once her bespectacled best friend was shipped off to the infirmary, Hermione turned to the professor, more than a little impatient to _finally_ get her hands on the promised treasure.

Listening to the instructions was an agony — surely she could read about it in the library later — and she was so glad when McGonagall finally let her go. Ducking into the nearest bathroom, she turned the hourglass six times — that was the maximum limit, and Hermione silently promised to herself to increase it one day — and after the slightly nauseating spin, found herself in the same spot.

When she walked out, though, the corridor was completely silent. It was a Hogwarts without her students, and Hermione had always wished to roam through the halls without anyone there to interrupt her. And if a house-elf said she kissed the necklace once, Hermione would vehemently deny the claim.

The year passed, at half the speed, or twice as fast for her, Hermione couldn't say. She hated it, though, when Harry commented how she looked like she could use some sleep, or when Ron said she was bonkers for studying all her subjects. She managed to help them, too, though. She could honestly say she cared for the boys as just friends, even if a tiny voice whispered that she was also keeping potential-boyfriend options open, and she saved Harry from what was surely a hexed Firebolt.

The argument that followed hurt her a lot and consumed too much of her time, and in the days that followed, Hermione was using the time-turner to its maximum limit, living 48 hours a day. With helping Hagrid, attending all the classes, doing all the homework, working on extra-credit, and all the extra reading to ensure a perfect score, though, Hermione told herself her usage of the magical device was justified.

It left her tired, hungry (she couldn't eat twice in the Great Hall during a single meal, could she? And she didn't know the way to the kitchens!) and on edge all the time, but Hermione could only see the goal she had expected herself to fulfil, and she would do it, dammit!

Even at half the pace, the exams arrived all too soon, and Hermione panicked before, during, and after the exam, driving Ron and Harry mad with all her cross-questions. ("_I think I forgot to mention the fifth alternative for billywig sting in the wideye potion in question four!")_

A few weeks later, Hermione was in her room, reading a dictionary out of boredom, for the seventieth time, when an owl flew in.

She scrambled to get off the bed, the dictionary falling to the floor — she could apologise to it later — and untied the letter. Ripping it open, she pulled out the grade sheet, staring at all the O's followed by distinction asterisks on the list, bar one. It was just an Outstanding, despite all the extra work she had put in, and Hermione let out a scream. Snape might call _her_ the insufferable one, but in reality, if they had to compare, they would for sure find more people who couldn't stand the esteemed professor.

She was a bit happy, though — at least she had all O's.

With a tiny, _real_, smile playing on her lips, for the first time in a whole year, she opened her Hogwarts trunk that sat at the foot of her bed. She threw everything on the bed, uncaring at this moment, until she got to the very bottom where she had buried the last year's Potions' answer sheet.

There, right under the 'A' that still brought a single tear to her eye, was a tiny note:

"For a second-year insufferable know-it-all who could brew Polyjuice in a toilet, a _vermilion_ swelling solution instead of the required _red_ is unacceptable."

* * *

**Non-canon compliant.**

**Count: 1280 words**

**Written for QLFC as Beater 1 of Falmouth Falcons.  
Prompts: Write about making a mountain out of a molehill, (genre) parody, (word) insufferable**


	2. Chapter 2

**Prompt: **Write about a character(s) striving to attain their concept of "perfection" OR write about a character(s) who is usually logical, practical, and systematic meeting someone the exact opposite of them: illogical, impractical, and spontaneous.  
Holding head high, blazing

Words: 1007

A/N: Consider this translated from Olde English to Modern English as a retelling of a story.

**Insanely Perfect**

_Goddammit!_

He had been so close; he could taste the win on his tongue. But he had lost. Lost because of an insolent, cowardly soldier who had sold him to the enemy.

Followers were sheep. They weren't supposed to think for themselves, to be selfish. They owed him their lives. He had trained them perfectly, hadn't he?

_Probably not._

All those crucios had been for naught. A spell, designed for the sole purpose of stomping insolence, attitude and disloyalty in the bud, to create the perfect army. Clearly, it hadn't been enough.

He was a genius; he knew that. _Crucio_ and _Avada Kedavra_ were both his creations, and they had never failed him, until now. He needed something new, something to power over his warriors' brains.

Something which would keep their skills, yet turn them into his puppets, ready to do his bidding whenever he asked.

He worked his brain, his quill erratically flying across the parchment to keep up the pace of his mental arithmetic calculations. He kept at it for days, eating only when he couldn't resist the hunger anymore and working until he slumped over on the top of the parchment — he had never been more thankful to his sister for creating the anti-spill charm.

Finally, he had his spell.

_Imperio_.

Short, sweet. He liked it very much. He bared his teeth in a semblance of a grin and left his room for the first time in over a week.

"Sister. _Sister!_"

"What?" The woman in question walked into the house, her feet stained in grass. He looked out; naturally, the sun was setting. She loved to walk barefoot in the garden outside at dusk. "You stink."

That broke his line of thought, and he grinned at her. "I have the spell."

She raised a brow, unimpressed. "What spell?"

"_Imperio._" The woman went slack, her usually straight back slumping just a bit and her green eyes glazing over. "Kneel!" She dropped to her knee, when she would never have had she been in charge of her own mind. "Rise. Bring me water."

She followed those instructions without question, and only when he had taken the goblet full of water and raised it to his lips did he drop his spell.

She took a moment to reorient herself, and then a smile broke on her face. It was a rare sight, and he couldn't help mirroring it. "Well done, brother. You have done me proud, Fenwick."

* * *

His army grew, then. There was no option of betrayal, when it was him who controlled their actions. The soldiers following him out of their own will wasn't a necessity now; he could rope any able wizard into his forces. Each of them was his puppet, until one wasn't.

He hadn't taken into account someone being strong enough to _will_ the curse away. A man — a recent addition — shook off his curse, yet pretended to be under it until the dark fell. As the soldiers slept, Fenwick softened the curse to a slight buzz, just in case any soldier woke up in the middle of the night, and went to bed.

The traitor used that to his benefit, shaking others out of the Imperius — Fenwick didn't know how he did it. He then led the now-free wizards to take down as many real followers as they could, before taking off.

The morning sun shone down on chaos, as his warriors found dead bodies in their midst. In his rage, Fenwick killed the man who brought him the message.

"That is another soldier wasted, when you have already lost so many." He looked up from where he had been sitting in his throne, musing over his loss. Anger controlled his sister's features, but when she spoke, her voice was calm and collected. "It is your fault, is it not? I told you not to get too confident, yet you had blind faith in your creation. Now you repent it."

"What else can I do?"

She snorted. "Yelling at me will not help. Regardless, you have done what your measly mind could come up with, now let me work."

The smile that split her face was cruel and cold, and he couldn't help the shiver that went down his spine. The world knew of him as the Dark Lord. Freddula stayed in the shadows, known to even his followers as the slightly-senile charms mistress who created useless spells out of boredom, who he kept around for giggles. Yet, it was she who was the real master.

She had sold her heart and soul to darkness; that was the price one paid for necromancy. She simply loved shadows too much to ever step out of them and into the limelight.

* * *

He stared at the chalky-white-skinned, limp-haired skeletal figure in front of him. It stood to his beacon, head held high, ready to do his bidding. Mindless, yet alert. Ready to fight till they still had fight in them. More of the _inferi_ stood behind the one Fenwick was staring at, and he turned to look at his sister.

Freddula hadn't let his dead followers go to waste. They would still fight for him, and he knew from where he had tested one _inferus_ against an _imperio'd_ soldier that it was way too hard to strike them down.

There was no way he would lose with them at his command. He had a perfect army at last.

He opened his mouth to thank his sister, but before the word could escape, his sister bellowed, "_Attack!_" His eyes widened as the closest _inferus_ shuffled closer and plunged the dagger it held straight into his stomach before Fenwick could even consider fighting back.

He crumpled to the floor, and Freddula stood near his feet, gazing down at him with slightly-crazed, blazing green eyes. "Too long have I spent in the shadows. Now that I have what I wished for perfected, I no longer need you. _Begone!_"

Fenwick felt a tug at his soul at that command, and he knew no more.


	3. Chapter 3

**Written for Quidditch League as Beater 1 of Falcons.**

**Prompts: **The Raqs Sharki of Egypt; write about a character who comes to respect someone they didn't previously, (object) journal, (color) lapis lazuli.

* * *

**heroine**

Hermione rubbed her eyes and sat on the bed. Cleaning up at Hogwarts was a tedious job, and all the people who wanted to shake her hand or hug her or talk to her didn't help. _War heroine._ Hermione snorted. She had just done her duty, and if every witch and wizard had done theirs, too, by taking a stand against the dark… well, maybe not as many would have died. It was their world that had been at risk, and if more people had brought up the courage to defend it, some of the fallen would still be alive.

She tried not to think of the names of people who she'd used to know, who were just that now—names and memories. Fred's mischievous grin when she'd told him off for the punching telescope; Tonks' stupid pig-nose; Remus answering a question about Hinkypunks with a tired but genuine smile; Lavender waltzing around in a new dress robe.

Her gaze went to the bed next to her, and it took her her thoughts to Lavender. It was made—likely the house-elves' doing—as if the girl would just come in and fall onto it face first, as she usually did after a tiring day full of classes, the rays of the setting sun falling in from the window next to her bed, making her golden hair glow like a halo.

Hermione idly mused if Lavender had a real halo now. She had to be in heaven, despite what Hermione thought about her teenage self. Fought in a war that the teenagers should never be a part of, tackled a werewolf to protect two younger students, struggled for her life for two days, before finally succumbing to the wounds… If a Gryffindor girl in their year should be called a war heroine, it was Lavender.

On the desk next to Lavender's bed, among the papers strewn about—the girl would never touch those again—lay a journal, and Hermione felt a bout of guilt, looking at it. It had called to her curiosity, and she had tried opening it, but it was password-protected, and Hermione had been unable to break it. Even now, her curiosity won over, and she stood up, walking over to the desk in a couple quick steps. The velvet was soft to touch and pristine, even though Hermione had seen Lavender with the same journal since their very first year.

She let her fingers curl around the binding of the rich blue journal; in contrast to the velvet, it felt softened-over from constant use. She picked it up, wanting to have another go at cracking the password, even as a part of her mind told her this was wrong. Hermione had never been good at dealing with her over-the-top curiosity, though, and she suppressed the guilt with an ease that she hated.

Flopping down on her own bed again, she mused for a second about what Lavender would use as a password. Guessing would be stupid, though, and Hermione thought instead of spells that could help her here. She waved her wand at the book a few times, until a bubble popped on the top, swirling with more colours than Hermione could ever imagine.

Huh, a colour, then. She tried pink first—girly girls usually picked that, didn't they?—then threw all the names of the colours she could remember, but the blue velvet cover remained firmly closed. She tried French, then, and finally Latin, a language that she had learned out of boredom in her second year when she'd had learned exams had been canceled.

She was rattling off random colours, and she didn't even realise which one worked as password, but the book suddenly shuddered, as if coming out of sleep and opened on its own. Shutting it back, Hermione repeated the previous ten colours she had listed at a slower pace.

The book opened again at _lapis lazuli_, and Hermione smiled a tiny smile, feeling a small sense of victory. It turned hollow, though, as her thoughts turned to the owner of the journal. Utterly abashed, Hermione closed the book. She didn't have the energy to walk over to the desk, though, so she placed it on her nightstand and burrowed under the blankets, even though she knew sleep would not come.

Hermione had barely been asleep for a few minutes, finally succumbing to exhaustion just after midnight, when a scream tore out of her lips. Bellatrix was there, in her room, a knife in her hand, ready to kill. Hermione's eyes flew open, and she looked around wildly, her hand clenching around her wand. She calmed somewhat when she saw the room was empty. She cursed herself for falling asleep, and for being weak enough to be susceptible to made-up nightmares even though she knew very well that Bellatrix was dead. She thought of going up to the boys' dormitory but decided they didn't need to lose their sleep, too, just because of her silliness.

She muttered a spell to light up the room and her hand went to the nightstand, where she usually kept a book, but it brushed against something soft. Hermione turned to look, pausing at the sight of the journal. It was too tempting to lose herself in someone else's head right now, and even through her guilt, Hermione picked the book up, muttering the Latin password and let it fall open in her lap.

_October 17, 1979_

_Happy birthday to me. I got a journal as a present for my birthday last week from grandmother, and honestly, it is the only good thing about turning eleven, apart from receiving my Hogwarts letter._

_We went to Diagon Alley today. I was finally allowed inside Flourish and Blotts. It was huge! I was going to spend all my birthday money on books—charms, divination (even though we won't get to study it yet), and perhaps a novel or two, but dad asked the man who had a 'Mr Blotts' pin on his robe for a basic, first year set. I asked him if I could go look, but he refused. He said girls didn't need any more books than bare neces… necesaty? I don't know how to spell that._

_After the wand store and apothecary, Dad took me to this bright store—it was so colourful it hurt my eyes—and told them to stock me up with everything I needed to pretty myself up. I have seen mum use those things, and I have played with them when she wasn't around. But I don't think I need them yet._

_When we came home, Dad took away the books and the wand and everything and told me that now I was old enough, I was going to get lessons on how to be a proper lady. He's had enough of grandmother's idiotic ideas, and I will learn how to be a proper pureblood, even though I'm not one._

_I don't know why, but I'm scared._

Hermione's heart went out to the child whose memory had been preserved in the journal. Perhaps… perhaps she had judged Lavender poorly. Perhaps the giggly, boisterous, girly girl Hermione had known had been a product of… Hermione felt a sense of anger rise within herself—at that man for forcing a girl who had once _wanted_ to learn, to turn her into what she was not; at herself for judging the girl the first day she had laid eyes on her makeup kit, and for keeping up with the judging, never giving the girl a chance. She felt guilty for never making a real effort to get to know the girl she had shared a dorm for six years.

She felt angry at the society that felt the need to manufacture proper little pureblood wives. Hermione was a daughter of two dentists; she had once wanted to be a therapist, and she knew enough about medical science to know what pressure could do to a child's mind, and that's what Lavender had been at eleven years old.

Honestly, Hermione had never been able to think of a reason why Lavender was in Gryffindor. The blonde had seemed frivolous and self-centered, but Hermione now couldn't help but remember all the times Lavender had yelled at boys who laughed at Eloise Midgen for her acne and later had offered to find the girl the right potion. How many times she had painted the nails of first years' homesick girls and told them stories. How many times she had found her dot right along with Neville and Ginny and Hannah in a room with the Carrows on the Marauders' Map.

How she had lost her life to protect the younger kids, even though perhaps her father had crippled her ability the day he had forced her into the role of a wife-to-be instead of letting her bloom as a witch.

She looked down at the journal in her lap and closed it gently. She had already invaded too much of the brave blonde's privacy, and she felt no inclination to read ahead, even though knowing herself, she knew she'd come back to the journal sooner rather than later.


	4. Chapter 4

**Written for QLFC by Beater 1 of Falmouth Falcons.**

**Prompts: **"The bounce has gone from his bungee." — Wallace and Gromit: A Close Shave, [quote] 'I reserve actual terror for only the most special of occasions.' — Monstress, Marjorie Liu & Sana Takeda, [word] Foregoing, [action] Hide

**Words:** 2079

* * *

**Bounce**

James was panicking. Again. James Potter used to be the _never_-panicking guy, until he met Sirius and unfortunately became best friends with him. The latter was hell-bent on turning James' hair grey prematurely; as if Sirius' job as a professional daredevil wasn't stress enough, now his equipment was being sabotaged as well.

Right before he was supposed to jump off one of the tallest buildings in London.

When James had told his adventurer friend that this was a bad idea, Sirius had spoken in a very McGonagall voice—Minerva McGonagall had been their Math teacher in high school and a woman no one messed with—_statistically speaking, your chances of being killed during a bungee jump is one in 500,000. Don't worry, James. _Not worrying was easier said than done with Sirius by his side.

It seemed though, that Sirius was going to go down in history as a man in half-a-million. Because if James didn't do something in the next ten minutes, his best friend would be a splatter of red on the ground, or worse, on the side of the building.

Honestly, James wasn't even sure how this bungee-jumping thing worked. Who the hell had even invented an activity which consisted of jumping from buildings, bridges and god knows what else? There had to be some logic behind the thing. Oh God, maybe he should have read up on it. Maybe he would have been able to help more then. Were there books on the mechanics of bungee-jumping?

Right now, he wasn't sure who to even go to, but James was running as far as he could towards the building, hoping there was some first responder over there to deal with equipment failure who could help. _Why_ hadn't James ever bothered to get familiar with all the daredevil-y things?

Just a few minutes ago, James had been sitting in a cafe two blocks over, not keen on seeing Sirius jump—James feared heights, even second hand—when he overheard Regulus, Sirius' brother, on a call with someone, talking about the sabotage. James had known Sirius' family disliked his career choice, and their attempts to show Sirius the mistake that his career choice was not new. There had been some nasty letters about how he was ruining the family reputation. On one memorable occasion, Mrs Black had yelled at her son in the marketplace. There had even been a few threats.

It had never gone this far, though. James could have never imagined the hatred went so deep that they would actually try to kill him. They were supposed to be Sirius' family.

He had wanted to punch Regulus in the face, but time was tight. James had run here as fast as he could. His burning lungs made him regret parking the car that he and Sirius had come in near the building Sirius was jumping from rather than taking it with him.

James slowed down as he neared the crowd surrounding the building, then he pushed his way up front. The people weren't ready to move, and every second wasted here was another second closer to Sirius' unfortunate fall.

He elbowed past a burly man, not bothering to say sorry, and excused himself as he slid past a pretty, red-haired woman. She reminded him just a bit of Lily, and James wished his girlfriend were here, and not away on a project.

Finally breaking free of the crowd, James rushed to the first man who looked like a non-medic first responder. He grabbed the man's arm, turning him around roughly.

"You need to help me."

The man raised a thick, brown eyebrow at him. James idly noticed his face was covered with nasty scars, even as he rambled in panic. It was a thing he did. "Erm, it's my friend up there, the one jumping? Do you know him? Right, you're here for him, yes?"

The man—his tag said _Remus Lupin_—nodded.

"The bounce has gone from his bungee." James said, willing the other to understand. But all Lupin managed was a confused look.

"I'm afraid I don't understand, Sir."

With helplessly waving hands, James said, "It's his family. They hate him, and they sabotaged the equipment."

Mr Lupin's eyes widened. "Are you sure about this, Sir?"

"Am I sure? Of course I'm sure! That's my best friend up there, and you have to help him, please. Please!" James noticed his voice had gone up as some of the nearby spectators turned around to look at him.

Oh God, this was embarrassing, and James was sure he would kick himself over this later, but he let himself break down just a little in front of the other man. He had a wedding in two months; he couldn't lose his best man now, he told himself.

"Sir, please calm down." At those words James took another step forward, his nose almost touching Mr Lupin's. James' hands were on their way to the other man's collar to shake some sense into Lupin, but the dark-haired man stopped himself midmotion and forced his shaking hands to his sides. James let all the panic and concern fill his eyes as he fixed Lupin with an almost pleading gaze and said:

"I can't calm down. You need to go up there and help him." James looked up then, forgoing his fear of heights. Sirius was standing at the edge, his preparations nearly complete. James gulped.

There wasn't enough time. He hadn't noticed a walkie-talkie with Lupin, either—no one thought they would need one down here, perhaps.

He turned to look at Mr Lupin, and as he did, he felt a tear fall past his cheek. He wiped it away angrily. "Look. I buried my parents not a year ago. He's half of all I have left, and I don't want to bury my brother now. Please, just don't let him die. Please, Mr Lupin."

The other man closed his eyes for a moment. When he opened them, they were full of conviction. "You won't lose him today." Lupin's voice was strong and unwavering, like he really meant what he'd said. As if he knew Sirius wouldn't die. A tiny flicker of hope illuminated James' fear-filled heart, and for the first time since he stopped running, James took a deep breath.

Right at that moment, the crowd collectively counted down from three and then cheered around them. James looked up in horror. Sirius had jumped.

To James, it seemed like the jump happened in slow motion, like in those movies. Sirius was whooping, not yet aware that things were about to go very wrong.

The rope was almost taut, and ideally, it would stretch and slow the momentum. It was simple physics even James knew. _This_ was not ideal, though. Without elastic, there would be no stretch. Either it would come to a sudden halt and the momentum would put too much pressure on Sirius' harness, breaking it, or the rope would snap under the pressure. In either case, his best friend would fall a still-considerable distance, right down onto the street. James wasn't sure that was exactly would happen—it was just what he deciphered with his limited knowledge of physics.

Suddenly, some sort of red light beam hit the tightening bungee rope. Sirius was still falling; the rope broke—how, James didn't know, because it wasn't supposed to break yet.

James screamed. He heard Sirius scream. Everyone was screaming, hundreds of eyes watching as Sirius fell under the effect of gravity, no strings attached.

James watched as his best friend neared the ground, and somehow, against the laws of science, he slowed down. He touched the ground with a fraction of what should have been his acceleration, and _bounced_. James wasn't sure what he was seeing, and he pushed his spectacles up his nose, as if that would make things clearer.

Sirius was still bouncing. People were yelling something. James turned to his left, only to do a double take. Remus had a stick in his hand; it was trained on Sirius, and some sort of energy beam was flowing from the stick to where the ground below Sirius had turned into a trampoline.

"Go get your friend. Meet me in the alley behind the building on the left, do you know that one?" James nodded. "I'll explain." With that, Remus ducked behind a truck, and as James looked after him, he vanished into thin air.

James was sure it was going to be one hell of an explanation. Right now, though, he had a best friend to yell at.

He neared Sirius and pulled the man up on his feet from where he was sprawled on the road, eyes closed. Normally, Sirius wouldn't even think of getting his precious hair anywhere near the ground, but today was anything but normal.

Just because of that, James pulled his best friend in a hug. "Are you scared enough to leave this scary business?"

"I reserve actual terror for only the most special of occasions," Sirius deadpanned, and James groaned.

"Isn't almost becoming a human pancake special enough for you? And I guess it was someone else screaming like a girl a minute back?"

Sirius sniffed. "It was a _whoop_. And I didn't actually become a pancake, did I? That would've been cool."

James punched him on the arm. "C'mon, I'll take you to meet your saviour, you idiot."

"This person better be cute."

James rolled his eyes.

.

"This place smells bad. Why can't we meet my saviour in a good-smelling place?"

"Because I'm hiding." The two men definitely did not scream.

James scowled at Remus who was sitting by a dumpster as if he did so every day. "Give a little warning next time, would ya?"

"My apologies." The man waved his stick at the entrance of the alley. "To make sure no one notices us here."

"Who are you hiding from, Mr Saviour?" Sirius asked. James, meanwhile, sent a questioning look towards the stick.

"I'm a wizard." Had James not seen it in action, he would have not believed it. Now, though, he didn't say anything. Remus continued, "What I did today, it's forbidden. Muggles, non-magic folk that is, are not supposed to know about our world. The Ministry people—"

"You have a Wizard Ministry?" Sirius asked.

"Yes, the Ministry of Magic. Well, the Obliviation Squad—the wizards and witches who alter memories of the Muggles who have magic—will be here soon. There will be Aurors—wizard police—looking for me, too."

Remus was good at answering the questions before either of the two Muggles could ask, but there was one question burning in both their minds. It was Sirius who voiced it. "You'll get in trouble for saving me?"

"Considering I performed magic in front of a hundred Muggles, maybe more, foregoing the first rule of the wizarding world, yes." Before either of them could speak, Remus stopped them. "I don't regret doing that. You have a very good friend here, Mr—"

"Sirius," the daredevil supplied.

"Mr Sirius. I could see how much you mean to him. I could not have stood by and let you fall to your death."

Sirius flashed him a smile, and James groaned. He knew what was coming. "I seem to have fallen, though."

"Yes, but you bounced," Remus replied, a smile playing on his lips, and James grinned at Sirius' wince. The bespectacled man coughed, smirking when his best friend shot him a glare.

The expression on Sirius' face grew painful for a moment, then, and James took a step towards him, concerned. "You okay?"

"I think I hit my head somewhere, but I'm fine. This Magic-Angel saved me."

"We-Wizard," Remus gently corrected.

"I think I'm in love, Jamie."

Just then, there was some scuffle outside the alley, followed by a shout. A beam of yellow seemed to tear some sort of invisible curtain, and James turned to warn the man who had saved his best friend. But Remus was gone, the boot prints on the dirty pavement the only sign he had even been there. Sirius' gaze was fixed on them, and in that moment, James knew that there had been some truth in his best friend's previous statement.

Then, red magic beams were coming towards both his face, too fast to duck. It hit James right between the eyes, and the man slumped to the ground. There was a thump of another person's body dropping by his side, but James felt too dizzy. The next second, blackness took over him.


	5. Chapter 5

**Written for QLFC by Beater 1 of Falmouth Falcons.**

**Prompts:** Write a fic set during a wizarding war (either one we know about or one of your own creation) — [character] Theodore Nott — [word] Monster.

**Words:** 2298

**Warnings:** It's a heavy war fic. Character death, lots of character death, blood/gore, depression, suicide.

* * *

**We Go Together**

When Theodore Nott took the Dark Mark, he didn't do it because he believed in the Dark Lord's cause. He didn't do it for the promised fame and fortune, either.

When Theodore Nott took the Dark Mark, he did it beside Draco Malfoy, both of them terrified of each and every monster surrounding them—terrified that they would become the monsters. They never talked about their fears, though. They rarely talked at all.

When Theodore Nott took the Dark Mark, he didn't do it for the same reason Draco Malfoy did—to save his family from the Dark Lord's wrath. His father had been a part of the Dark Lord's circle for years, never doing anything to upset the tyrant. He also never did anything to particularly please him. The Nott family was trusted, but always in the shadows. Theodore could have disappeared and his father would have been plenty safe.

No, Theodore Nott took the Dark Mark for one reason: Blaise Zabini.

Unlike Theo, Blaise Zabini didn't have a choice. His mother had killed one too many suitors, one too many of Voldemort's men, and Blaise had to pay the price. He was forced into the ranks at the age of fifteen under threat of both his and his mother's death if he refused to cooperate.

Blaise hadn't wanted Theo to join the Death Eaters—Blaise had wanted him to leave—but Theo was stubborn and loyal to a fault. He had told Blaise that he would only leave if Blaise went with him, and he was determined to stick to his words, no matter how many monstrous things he was required to do for the Dark Lord.

And so they remained together, drawing strength from each other, wondering if maybe, just maybe, they should talk to Professor Dumbledore. Or maybe even Professor McGonagall. But then Professor Dumbledore was killed.

By that time, they were too afraid to go to Professor McGonagall.

So they remained silent.

Oh how Theo wished they hadn't. As he looked at the horror around him, he wished they had gotten away.

The Battle of Hogwarts was hell. The whole castle had erupted in chaos. Bits of stone exploded on every spell impact. Screams of terror, anger, and strength reverberated across every surface. The bodies of pure-bloods, half-bloods, and Muggle-borns littered every walkway. No one was spared; his extended family, his professors, his friends… they were all being killed off.

When the battle had started, both Blaise and Theo had stood on Voldemort's side, hating every inch of the monsters that they had allowed themselves to become. But now? Now there were no sides. Now there was only madness. And Blaise was nowhere to be found.

Theo had lost sight of him maybe thirty minutes ago, and each minute felt like an hour. He was going crazy with worry, scanning each body he passed on the ground for those safe arms that used to hold him for hours on end, or the dark and textured hair that was just perfect for sliding his fingers through. Every time he saw a body that didn't belong to his Blaise, he breathed a sigh of relief. He wanted to find Blaise, but he didn't want to find him dead. A life without Blaise wouldn't be worth living.

And then he was sick to his stomach. How could he be relieved that there was another dead body? How could he be okay with any of this? How could…

He passed another body; it didn't belong to Blaise.

The cycle repeated again and again, driving Theo insane. It was a dangerous thing to go crazy on a battlefield, too many variables to deal with, but he couldn't help himself. _He needed to find Blaise._

He had made it away from the messiest and most congested part of the battle, though there were still bouts of fighting happening all around him. He was covered in blood; he was pretty sure that at least some of it was his. He wanted everything to be over. The farther into the castle he walked, the quieter things got, and he was thankful for it.

Until he heard a scream—a scream that would have been swallowed by the noise of everyone else's scream had Theo still been in the midst of the battle—a scream that shook Theo to his very core.

Blaise's scream.

He had only heard Blaise scream once before, and it was when the Dark Lord was punishing Theo for not being eager enough to inflict pain. He had only heard Blaise scream when Theo was on the other end of the wand.

The sound echoed in Theo's head as he took off, sprinting in the direction he thought it came from only to stop dead in his tracks when Blaise screamed again. He had been going the wrong way. He started running again, doubling back the way he had come from, his breath coming out in short wheezes. When Blaise screamed a third time, this time the sound coming from a classroom to his left, Theo let out a yell of his own, feeling too many emotions bubbling up in his chest to process.

He kicked the door down, adrenaline coursing through his body, before raising his wand and throwing a disarming spell at the only standing figure in the room. He almost began casting curses, but then he realized who he was facing.

Ernie Macmillan was probably covered in as much blood as Theo, though as it all seemed to be located around his hands and in splatters, Theo guessed that none of the blood was Ernie's. Theo guessed that Ernie had tried to keep someone from dying. And, by the way that Ernie was sobbing, every part of his body visibly shaking, Theo guessed that Ernie had failed to keep that person alive.

Theo's gaze shifted from Ernie to the body that Ernie stood over, and he almost fell to his knees. Blaize didn't look dead, but he didn't look alive either. Blood pooled and spilled over his torso and from the corner of his mouth, and he was trembling ever so slightly. Without thinking, Theo raced forward, shoving himself past Ernie as he dropped beside Blaise, hands touching every bit of him that he could, trying to find the source of the blood, healing spells tumbling from his lips.

Theo never found where Blaise was wounded. Ernie grabbed the back of his shirt and pulled him off of Blaise, throwing him backwards and onto the ground. Before Theo could process what was happening, Ernie took his wand, threw it to the side, and began throwing punches. They landed fast and hard on his jaw, his chest, his forehead. They were sloppy punches, but they were painful.

It took Theo a few moments, somewhere around ten punches, before he finally grabbed Ernie's wrists and switched their positions. Ernie was pinned to the ground, and Theo wanted to return the punches he had given, but he held himself back.

"What the hell got into you?" Theo yelled, struggling to keep Ernie down. It took more effort than Theo would ever admit. "Blaise needs help. He's dying. Let me help him."

Ernie snarled and put all of his force behind a head butt, his forehead connecting with Theo's nose. "That bastard deserves to die, and so do you," he growled, his voice sounding nearly inhuman as he pushed Theo off of him.

After barely a moment's pause, Ernie lunged again, reaching for Theo, but Theo didn't let himself be caught again. He dove for his wand, sliding on the floor to get to it, before shouting "Stupefy!"

He didn't aim, but Ernie still crumpled to the ground.

"Shit," Theo breathed before scrambling back to Blaise, pulling him up onto his lap and beginning to remove his shirt, hands fumbling desperately with the buttons before he finally gave up and just ripped the material. "Shit, baby. I'm here."

Blaise's breathing was shallow, but he smiled all the same. "I… I knew that… you'd come," he breathed. He winced as Theo peeled the shirt off of him, but didn't cry out.

"I'm here, so you better fucking stay here, okay?" Theo commanded before swearing under his breath as he finally saw the wound. It was deep, and the blood just wouldn't stop coming. Balling up Blaise's shirt, he put it on the wound with as much pressure as he could, trying to staunch the flow. "When we leave, we leave together."

Blaise let out a soft laugh, but it turned into a small sob. "We might not have a choice," he murmured, still smiling but with tears in his eyes.

Theo shook his head, grabbing his wand again and beginning to murmur some spells under his breath, not willing to give up. "No," he said after a moment. "I won't lose you."

"Ernie didn't do this," Blaise said after a moment, looking up at the ceiling. Theo continued to try and heal him, letting him talk. Talking meant that he was still alive. "Dolohov. I found him here after… he killed Neville."

Theo winced. "Neville's dead?" he asked, having to close his eyes for a moment. They were on opposite sides, but he would never wish any harm on the Gryffindor. "Did it look quick at least?"

Blaise shook his head before letting out a weak cough. "Died bloodier than I will," he said with a bitter laugh. "I didn't even… Dolohov made it out alive."

After letting out a harsh swear, Theo shook his head. "I'll get him. I promise. Then we will leave together," he said, repeating the last part once, then twice, as if trying to convince himself it was true. He knew it wasn't.

The blood kept spilling; neither wizard said what they were thinking.

"I know I have… blood on my face," Blaise murmured as he weakly reached up to cup Theo's cheek, distracting him from his task. "But… kiss me?"

Theo let out a soft sob, nodding as he grabbed Blaise's hand and leaned forward to gently kiss his lips, tasting his Blaise under the overwhelming surge of metallic blood.

The kiss was short, far shorter than any last kiss should be. Blaise went slack within seconds, leaving Theo with nothing to protect—nothing to love.

"So now you know how it feels," a voice brimming with emotion said. Theo looked up to see Ernie sitting up in the place he had been stunned. "Serves you right, fucking monster."

Theo let out another sob, shaking his head as he hugged Blaise closer. "We... We didn't want this," he said, voice shaky as he shut his eyes tight. "We wanted to run, to hide away. We didn't want any of this."

Ernie slowly stood up, grabbing his wand as he went. He leveled it towards Theo, murder in his eyes. "I trusted you!" he yelled, advancing on him. "I trusted both of you, even though he broke up with me and you took him away for good. Even though you weren't on our side. Even though I knew you both took the Dark Mark!"

The Hufflepuff was now standing directly above Theo and Blaise, no more reason behind his rage. "And then I found him above _Neville_," he whispered, his voice thick with pain as he pointed towards a heap in the corner that Theo couldn't even bring himself to look at. "He took my Neville. I watched him _die_. Blaise took him away from me _for good_ and—"

"It was Dolohov," Theo interrupted, startling Ernie into taking a step back. "Dolohov took your Neville. Dolohov took my Blaise. That bastard needs to be repaid in full."

Ernie looked uncertain, though the white-hot rage he had been holding towards Blaise began to dissipate. "Are… Are you sure?" he asked, sounding younger than ever before.

Theo squeezed Blaise's body closer to him. "Blaise isn't," he paused but didn't correct himself. "Blaise isn't a liar. And he sure as hell wouldn't lie to me with his last breaths."

Silence fell over the room as Ernie took in the information; Theo could see the logic swirling in his mind. If anyone should know Blaise, it would be Ernie, his first and only boyfriend before Theo.

"Will you help me give that son of a bitch what he deserves?" Ernie asked, his voice calmer than Theo had ever heard from him.

Theo met Ernie's eyes, tugging Blaise even closer as if he could squeeze the life back into him. After a moment, he nodded and let Blaise's body go, carefully setting him on the ground before standing up.

"Let's go," he said, determined to see this through.

After Ernie left the room, Theo spared a glance back at Blaise, his heart stuttering to a stop. They were supposed to leave together. However, Theo had received his Dark Mark after Blaise, so maybe it wouldn't be too hard to catch up to him in the afterlife.

He swallowed thickly as he turned to walk out of the room, his heart already making the decision to not beat again as soon as Dolohov was dead.

/-\

The battle was over, and so was the war.

Voldemort won, but it didn't matter.

Dolohov was dead, as was over half of the wizarding population in Britain, but it didn't matter.

Theo's Dark Mark was completely covered in blood, Blaise's blood, but even that didn't matter.

There was nothing that mattered anymore, at least not to Theo. He couldn't account for anyone else—anyone that was left.

Silently, Theo looked up at the stars that dared to shine after such a bloodbath and he raised his wand to his temple. He couldn't even bring himself to cry.

He would be leaving, not with Blaise but just behind him, and that's all that mattered.


	6. Chapter 6

**Written for QLFC by Beater 1 of Falmouth Falcons.**

**Prompts: **Write about someone having fun — (dialogue) "Well, this is awkward."— (setting) Knockturn Alley

**Words: **1387

**Warnings: **hints of bullying, torture, manipulation

* * *

**Having A Little Fun**

Bellatrix was six the first time she deliberately terrorized someone.

Most children at that age go for their siblings, mainly due to issues of jealousy or control, but not Bellatrix. No, she went for the boy in town, the one with the Muggle father. Bellatrix had already asserted her dominance over her sisters, but this boy? He needed to learn his place.

He was an abomination; Bellatrix's mother said so.

She skipped, hand in hand with Andromeda, to the town playground after promising their mother that they would be home long before dinner.

They had been at the playground for just a few seconds when Bellatrix saw the boy with the Muggle father. She didn't bother to learn his name but certainly knew what he looked like: pale skin, dark eyes, dirty-blond hair, blue trousers that had to be Muggle made, and an ill-fitting cloak… he looked like an abomination. Bellatrix could tell just by looking at him that he had dirty blood running through his veins.

"Boy!" she shouted, her eyes alight with glee. Andromeda looked up at her in confusion, but Bellatrix ignored her younger sister.

The boy in question turned around, a similar look of confusion on his face, just like Andromeda. He slipped his hands into his strange trouser pockets, his eyes full of too much trust. "You talking to me?" he asked, his voice far too impudent for his blood status.

Bellatrix almost giggled, her wild black hair crackling with energy. She could feel the magic building within her, feasting on her hatred for this boy as well as her desire to hurt him.

The best part was that she was only six; she knew she would be able to label this as accidental magic and get away scot-free. She could have as much fun as she wanted.

…

By the time Bellatrix was eleven, she had gotten good at hurting people and getting away with it. When she didn't have a good excuse, she had her family name and her father's power backing her up. On occasion, she had the opportunity to pin things on her younger siblings, though it was becoming abundantly clear that Andromeda didn't have the same bloodlust as Bellatrix, and Narcissa? She was too quiet—too weak in Bellatrix's mind. They didn't enjoy the things that Bellatrix enjoyed, and it was obvious to everyone around them. So, slowly, she was losing the ability to place blame on her sisters. But that didn't matter. She was getting smarter every day, and she enjoyed each little challenge that was presented to her.

She smiled as she slipped into Knockturn Alley, leaving her mother to deal with buying her school things. She wanted to have fun, and school shopping in Diagon Alley was not fun.

Knockturn Alley was dark, as always. It almost felt like there were enchantments in place, keeping the whole street dank and musty. Yet there was still a purity to it, like everyone nearby knew where they were going in life and exactly how to get there. Bellatrix loved it.

All of the shops surrounding her were fascinating—there was a place for hard-to-find potion ingredients—a shop full of smuggled creatures—a building that housed books filled with dark curses. Of course, there was also Borgin and Burkes, which was an antique shop filled to the brim with curious objects. Borgin and Burkes was Bellatrix's favorite. She could spend hours in there.

Upon stepping foot into the store, her eyes lit up even more. Mr. Borgin gave her a slight bow, knowing her to both come in on her own and also with her family. She nodded in return before making her way to the back of the store, her eyes dancing from object to object. She knew this place like the back of her hand, so she didn't bother looking where she was going.

Well, that was a mistake. She ran straight into another body, one just a little bit bigger than hers. With a soft yelp, she tumbled to the ground, limbs entangled with the boy who crashed into her, head hitting something hard, but not hard enough to be the concrete ground.

She heard a loud groan and shifted, realizing that her head had hit the boy's knee. His torso was bent over hers, his arm around her waist as if he had tried to catch her. She couldn't see his face from where she was, but she could see the Lestrange family crest on the edge of his robe, which was sprawled beneath them.

"Well, this is awkward," a boy said with a laugh, sitting up slightly and untangling himself from Bellatrix. She waited until he had let go of her before standing up, fixing her own dress and robe so they were laying properly.

She then held her hand out to the boy, whom she recognized as Rodolphus Lestrange. He took it and used it to help himself stand up. After looking him over once more, she felt her smile growing.

The Lestranges were like the Blacks—powerful and pure. By the same token, Rodolphus was just like Bellatrix, shown by the way his shirt was ironed, his shoes were shined, his crest was presented proudly on his robe and as a ring on his hand, and his eyes were filled with the same crazy desire to enjoy life to its fullest.

"It's only awkward if you let it be," Bellatrix finally said with a shrug. "What are you doing in here?"

Rodolphus laughed, letting his hands slip in the pockets of his robes. "You get right down to business. I like it," he said with a grin before bending down to retrieve something he must have dropped in the fall. He then held his hand out to Bellatrix. In it was a small orb with a smoking center. When it was presented to Bellatrix, the smoke inside slowly began turning white, seeming to sparkle just slightly.

Bellatrix looked up at Rodolphus in confusion, curiosity spreading through her entire being.

Rodolphus simply laughed. "It shows your blood status," he said, handing the orb to her. "White means that you're pure. Black means you're a Muggle, or as good as one. Greys are somewhere in the middle."

After examining it for a little while, Bellatrix handed the orb back to Rodolphus, grinning softly. "It gets right down to business. I like it," she said cheekily.

She had finally found someone who seemed to enjoy the same type of fun that she did.

…

When Bellatrix was sixteen, things started to change. The summer after her sixth year at Hogwarts, she was inducted into the Dark Lord's circle, something she had been wanting for a while. At Hogwarts, she had to have fun behind the scenes, making sure to curse her victims so they couldn't rat her out. But with the Dark Lord? She was allowed to be free, surrounded by people who shared her ideals.

That summer, she was also promised to Rodolphus Lestrange. If it had been anyone else, she might have kicked up a fuss, but the idea of marrying Rodolphus didn't bother her. He had, on occasion, helped her torment those who didn't belong at Hogwarts. The curse she put on everyone she hurt was even his idea. It wasn't a simple curse, something found in the back of an old book from Borgin and Burkes, but it had the ability to keep someone from talking about a certain subject.

In any case, if there was a single person who truly understood Bellatrix and what she enjoyed doing, it was Rodolphus.

After hearing the news, she met Rodolphus in the sitting room of her family home, feeling something like nerves crackling through her body. He smiled when he saw her, a kind of crazy smile that was too centered in his eyes.

"I have an engagement present for you," he said, reaching into his pocket. He pulled out a little pink hair ribbon. "Belongs to a Mudblood girl. I thought you might enjoy the chase of finding her."

Bellatrix's eyes lit up, and whatever nervous energy she may have been holding dissipated. She even let out a light giggle and stepped close to him to place a peck on his lips, her fingers closing around the ribbon. "I love it. Let's go have a little fun, yeah?"


	7. Chapter 7

_A/N: Spoilers from Crimes of Grindelwald. Prompts are listed at the end._

**love of my life (you've hurt me)**

When this is blown over, they will be together again. He tells himself this over and over, and some part of him does believe it. The wizards and witches are blowing it way out of proportion, he feels; the Muggles have had many wars—many more so than the wizarding world, most likely—and they always came to an end.

What he actually fears, though, is collateral damage. More specifically, will Queenie make it?

He has thought her an innocent soul since the day he laid eyes on her. She always has taken a childlike joy in every little thing she does, and to Jacob, it has always been infectious. Always, she has had this purity to her—he can't exactly put it into words, but he has certainly never met someone like Queenie before. He's pretty sure there is no one like her.

It is this pure, innocent heart that had lured him in and made him fall in love with her. She stole his heart in those first few days when he got to know of the magical world, and despite what everyone else says, Jacob feels that that was the tether that kept him tied to the memories of her even after they had washed away… until Queenie sought him out. Then, it was like wiping away the fog on the window.

The knowledge that she could be jailed, or worse, for just being in love with a No-Maj had been heartbreaking, but it finally made sense as to why Tina always hated him so much. Marriage was completely out of question—he couldn't risk Queenie's life just for his own selfish wants. He had felt his soul shatter, seeing those tears in Queenie's eyes when he voiced his conclusion, but Jacob had been resolute about this one thing.

Waking up groggy—it hadn't exactly _been_ a waking up, but Jacob doesn't have any better words to describe it to this day—in a different country altogether had been a little crazy, but in hindsight, he feels he should have known she would not have given up that easily. He had been a little mad at her—and he feels his anger was justified in that situation—but now…

Now she's gone.

He…

Those words, those _screams_ ring in his ears every moment. If he had just…

_No_, he thinks. The 'what if's don't help him, and they don't help her. He just has to believe she'll be back when this all is over. He wipes the tears falling to his cheeks away with a hand, yet one drop falls onto the parchment Newt gave him, telling him perhaps writing the feelings down would help. The British man said he does it often, because it's easier putting words to paper than to humans, and Jacob wants to try. He picks up the quill—a real _quill_—and dips it in ink. Perhaps he shouldn't have been all that surprised when Newt gave him a feather with a nib and an inkpot—the wizarding world is very queer.

He brings it to the parchment, his mind going back to his grandmother. Her set had been a wedding present from his grandfather, she had told him, and she had taught him to write with it. Once, the memory would have brought a smile to his face; now, it serves as a reminder of how it was her recipes which started this whole chain of events.

_Queenie_. His heart aches as all the memories repeat themselves over in his head. There's still the slightest bit of haze to them, but they're cherished regardless.

His hand shakes just a little as he brings the quill to the paper. He forces it not to, but it's futile. It's just a physical representation of the tremor in his thoughts. Jacob lets out a long breath and starts to write.

_Queenie_, he begins, then scratches it out.

_Love of my life_, he writes, the sound of the quill scratching across the parchment loud to his ears. The title of the "i" coincides with where the parchment is still wet from the lone teardrop; the spreading ink mesmerises him, and it takes Jacob more time than he'd like to admit to shake himself out.

_You've hurt me. I won't lie about that. You broke my heart, and you left me. It did stem out of your love for me, but it hurt me regardless. I still love you, though. So much, that it hurts more than anything ever did. It's funny, huh, how the one who you love the most has the power to hurt you the most?_

_I reacted badly, and I can't blame myself enough, for had I agreed that day, none of this would have happened. I just… I just want you back, y'know? I miss you._

_Newt told me to write all I thought down, and look at me, talking to a paper, as if it were you. But it's not. I know it's not, because I would never have to tell you all of this. You'd just know, with that mind-reading power of yours._

_I know that soon, Grindelwald will be defeated, and you'll be back. It has to be so, because I wouldn't know what to do if… just don't die, okay? I love you, and when you are back, we can get married and live wherever you want. Just come back. We have so much to do together yet, that one lifetime is not going to be enough._

_Waiting for you._

_Love,  
Jacob._

He is in tears again by the time he finishes writing. He is probably being a child, but Jacob decides he doesn't care. Very carefully, he rolls the unintentional letter and wax-seals it. On the top of the scroll, he adds:

_Remember to deliver with the speed of light, a little bit of love and joy._

It is just something his grandmother always used to write on the envelopes of letters to loved ones, and even though Jacob knows he will never post it, he writes it anyway.

As he finally leans back in his chair, Jacob feels lighter than he has since… the day.

* * *

**Written for the Quidditch League as Beater 1 of Falmouth Falcons.**

**1019 words.**

**Lyrics used** (from the song Love of My Life): "When this is blown over", "Love of my life, you've hurt me / You've broken my heart"

**Optional Prompts: (1) **(lyric) So much to do in one lifetime [ from I Want It All], **(2) **(quote) 'Remember to deliver with the speed of light, A little bit of love and joy' - The March of the Black Queen by Queen


	8. Chapter 8

**The Darkness Within**

He woke up aching worse than usual, and a groan escaped his mouth. Blearily, Remus looked around, frowning when he didn't see any of the Marauders lounging about in the hospital hing. Maybe Professor McGonagall had made them go to classes?

He could sense the stink of what Peter had dubbed 'the werewolf breath' in his mouth, so he reached under the pillow for his wand, only to find it was not there. Madam Pomfrey made sure it was there every single time since Remus had requested it in first year… something was not adding up.

Just then, the door to the hospital wing opened, and Professor Dumbledore stepped in. Remus gave the man a small smile and greeted him, but the headmaster didn't return it.

"Mr Lupin, I'm afraid something terrible happened last night."

Remus felt his stomach drop. Was—had he killed someone? Worse yet, had he bitten… Merlin, had he hurt one of his friends?

"Pro—"

"Someone was unlucky enough to find their way through the tunnel under the Whomping Willow and—"

"Is the person—did I kill—"

"Nothing of that sort, my boy. He did see you, though. Luckily, Mr Potter brought him out before anything unfortunate could happen."

Remus felt most of the tension drain out of him. He wasn't a killer. He wasn't a monster. Was he?

Dumbledore was quiet, and Remus looked up at him. "Who was he, Professor?"

"Severus Snape," the older man replied, but Remus felt too drained to muster a reaction to the name.

"Am I to be ex-expelled, Professor?" he asked quietly, looking down into his lap.

"Ah, I'm afraid so, my dear boy. Mr Snape was rather insistent that he would press charges, and the only thing he would accept to…"

"I-I understand, Professor," Remus replied, voice bitter. "Being expelled is not as bad as Azkaban, I reckon."

"I'm sorry, my boy. I tried—"

"It's alright, Professor." Remus sighed, then looked up again. "I believe Snape didn't find the passage himself," he said, voice dull. "May I ask who told him, Professor?"

Dumbledore's eyes turned sad, and he reached out to place a hand on Remus' shoulder, making the young boy flinch. "Are you sure you wish to know?"

"I think I deserve to know who ruined my life, Professor."

"For what counts, I am sorry that you were the victim of a childhood spat, my boy. I wouldn't deny you the truth, though." Dumbledore paused, and Remus took a deep breath in anticipation. "It was Mr Black."

All the dulled senses ignited, betrayal and anger filling him. A snarl left Remus' lips before he could stop it, making Dumbledore bow his head.

"It does not do well to dwell on people's mistakes, Remus. He who forgives is the bigger man."

Remus let the other man speak, then shook his head. He didn't dare open his mouth, too full of rage that was quickly turning into hatred. Dumbledore waited for a few minutes, then patted his shoulder and left.

Whispers of "monster", "scum", "animal" followed him when he walked through the halls as he made way to the Gryffindor dorm, eyes trained to the ground. The anger coursing within him hadn't dulled, and the comments only added fuel to the fire. Remus had never been an advocate of using magic to hurt people, but every insult hurled at him made his hand twitch towards his wand.

None of his _friends_ was there when Remus reached the dorm. The sight of the room he had spent nearly six years in brought tears to his eyes—he wasn't ever returning here—and Remus wiped them away. He threw his belongings in his trunk, but when he found one of Sirius' books on his table, a snarl tore away from his mouth, and he hurled it in the direction of the other boy's bed.

Remus' legs gave way, and he broke down into tears. He could still remember the day when Professor Dumbledore had come to his house and given him his Hogwarts letter. If he ever learned the Patronus charm, he was sure it was that moment of jubilation, of knowing he could still be a wizard, that would fuel the spell.

Not that he would ever learn another spell now, he thought. Not now, when his own friend… someone who had been more than a friend… had betrayed him.

.

Professor Dumbledore took his wand that evening, and Hagrid led him away from the castle. He wondered why he had he ever thought he could do it? Why had he believed in the illusion of being something other than a monster? He had never belonged.

His parents met him at the Hogwarts gate. His father took the trunk, and his mother placed a comforting hand on his shoulder, but Remus couldn't muster a hello. Home was a quick Apparition away, and soon after, he locked himself in his room.

That night, Remus took his still-packed trunk along and ran away.

.

Remus was huddled in one of the dark corners of the Knockturn Alley, under a blanket he had stolen from a drunk hag. Despite it being June, the alley was cold, and Remus couldn't help but shiver.

He had thought of running into the Muggle world, but he hadn't been able to leave the Wizarding world completely just yet. Also, he couldn't ensure the safety of the Muggles on the full moons, but luckily, here in Knockturn, he had found a basement stray werewolves like him used for turning. It was a tiny place for over a dozen grown werewolves, but it kept them from hurting people, and at this point, Remus would take whatever he got.

The first few days, he had tried being a saint, until people—creatures—stole clothes off his back, all of his money, and the wrist watch his… friends… had given him for his last birthday that he had kept for a reason unknown to even Remus himself.

That had been the breaking point, though. Since then, stealing from drunkards was fair game, and now he had an assorted collection of things in his trunk that he kept shrunk since the day he stole a wand off a drunk wizard.

Remus unwrapped a sandwich he had found in a bin and took a bite. It was the first thing he had eaten all day, and even though it smelled just a little, he thought it was delicious.

Before he could take a second bite, a lit wand pointed his direction, and someone started to move towards him. Remus tried to hide in the non-existent shadows, not keen on talking to anyone, but the person didn't ignore him like Remus wished. Boots stopped right in front of him, and Remus finally looked up.

He didn't recognise the person, and he flinched when the other man dropped a packet—what looked like a beef sandwich—in front of him. It looked fresh and way more tempting than the one in Remus' hand, but Remus looked up in the man's brown eyes and shook his head.

"I'm not a beggar."

The man laughed, to Remus' surprise. "I didn't take you for one, Lupin. I'm Rabastan Lestrange."

Remus had heard whispers about the Lestranges being in association with the Dark Lord, so he sighed and said, "Whatever you wanna say, I'm not interested."

"Very well," said Lestrange, "but you might be interested in this." Remus looked up and stared, because in the other man's hands was Remus' own wand. Rabastan smirked at him. "Yes, it is what you think it is. The Dark Lord rewards generously."

Despite the temptation, Remus turned his gaze back down to his lap. A few minutes passed, and when it was clear that he would neither stand up nor talk, Rabastan huffed and squatted in front of him.

"Just hear me out, okay?" Remus didn't respond, but he did pay attention when Rabastan continued anyway. "I'm sure you have those ridiculous morals stopping you—all the shit Dumbledore has fed you. Look around you, though. Who is protecting the people like you, wasting away in the corners? Real wizards and witches and magical beings are going hungry because Dumbledore and the Ministry are too busy wasting resources on Mudbloods.

"The Dark Lord treats us alike, wizards, werewolves, half-giants. We serve him, and he only seeks to serve us. He wants to uplift the Wizarding community while the Ministry continues to ignore the problems. Yes, he has to go the tough way about it. Yes, people think it wrong. But sometimes, even the wrong train takes us to the right station."

Remus tried, yet he couldn't help but be affected by Lestrange's little speech. He looked at the other man, and the latter spread his arms in a half-shrug. "What does the Dark Lord want from me?"

"Nothing," Rabastan said, "but loyalty. He just wants to give a chance to someone who used to be a Prefect before he was expelled for a mistake that wasn't even his. He wants to give you a chance at life."

Remus was skeptical, but the lure was real. Then, Rabastan stood up and dropped his wand in his lap and stood up. "Think about it. Regardless of your answer, you are a wizard and deserve your own wand."

Before Remus could open his mouth, the wizard twisted on the spot and Apparated away.

.

"Welcome, Remus Lupin." His voice was rather high and his features snakelike. His red eyes bore into Remus' own—he was almost nothing like Remus had expected.

Rabastan kneeled in front of Voldemort and kissed his robes; Remus merely bowed his head, making the Dark Lord laugh from where he sat in a high throne.

"My lord," Rabastan started when he stood up, "Mr Lupin expresses his desire to serve you."

"Does he now?" Voldemort mused, resting his chin on a hand. "And did you tell him he needs to prove himself before that?" Remus gulped. He had almost said no when Rabastan had told him about the initiation, but he had not gone back on his decision.

"I did, my lord," answered Rabastan.

"Very well. The man you are about to see, Mr Lupin, has murdered twelve werewolves—some of them mere children—on the orders of the Ministry. Do you think he deserves to live?"

Remus stilled, then forced his tongue to move. "N-No, my lord."

"Will you give him what he deserves, then?"

Remus nodded, but the Dark Lord kept waiting, so he voiced, "Yes, my lord."

"Good. Bring the prisoner out."

Two Death Eaters in masks dragged in a man dressed in tatters. He had tear-tracks on his cheeks, and his hair was caked in blood. Remus felt like throwing up at the sight of him, especially when the man turned his pleading gaze in Remus' direction.

"Just one spell," the Dark Lord whispered, and it echoed loud in Remus' ears as he brought a shaky hand up and pointed his wand at the wizard. "Just one spell, and you will be accepted as one of mine, Remus. And unlike Dumbledore, I don't throw people out for petty things."

Rage filled his mind at the mention of Dumbledore—somewhere along the way, Remus realised that Dumbledore could have done more than what he had. It had been Black's fault, and Remus hadn't heard the other boy expelled. Was it just because he was a wizard?

The hatred fueled the spell when Remus uttered, "Avada Kedavra." He saw the terror in the man's eyes right before the spell hit him, and the thump of the newly-turned corpse echoed loud in the room. Had taking a life really been that easy?

Remus closed his eyes for a moment, then turned to look at the Dark Lord.

"Well done, Remus. Come here."

If Remus wasould ever be asked about the next few minutes, he wouldn't have been able to describe them. The Dark Lord's appreciative glance, the feeling of acceptance, the pain. All he had from that moment was the mark on his left arm, a permanent reminder of what he was now.

Somewhere in his heart, Remus knew he didn't regret it, even though he did regret taking a man's life.

.

Another killing curse left his wand, and another one of Dumbledore's men fell. It didn't even surprise Remus now, how easily he took lives, though he still couldn't stop that little twinge of regret.

All the regret left him, though, when the next person appeared in front of his eyes. A ghost from his past, someone he had once called a friend, until said friend destroyed the whole of Remus' life. His lips twisted up in a crazed grin. Out of the corner of his eye, he could see the battle dwindling down.

Good. He wanted to take his time with the man in front of him.

"Hello, Black," he said, and reaching up to his face, he removed his mask. Black's eyes widened.

"Re-Remus?" His name was but a whisper, but Remus heard it regardless, and it brought back all the hatred he had for the man in front of him twofold. Black's wand hand returned to his side, and he started in Remus' direction. Remus raised his wand in warning, and Black paused. "I'm so sorry," he pleaded, his voice breaking. "I've regretted that silly pr—"

"Yes, the little, silly prank. I'm over it now, Black, and I'm over you."

"Remus—" Black tried again, but Remus was getting tired of his yapping, and he could see the other Death Eaters Apparating away one by one.

"As much as I would _love_ to catch up with how wonderful your life is, I'm afraid I need to leave before your pathetic comrades return with reinforcements." With that, Remus levelled his wand, curse ready on his lips.

* * *

**Written for QLFC as Beater 1 of Falmouth. Go Falcons!**

**Prompts: **A character defects from the light side to join the dark, (song) On Top Of The World by Rachel Bearer, (dialogue) "Sometimes even the wrong train takes us to the right station", (emotion) anger

**Word Count: 2292**


End file.
